Whiskey, Women & Wisdom: A Day in the Life of Louie Pheeters

Louie Pheeters stood tall atop the Long Branch bar, wavering only a bit after the two shots of whiskey he’d just downed before climbing up in the middle of the barroom fray, smoking shotgun in his hand and a determined look in his eye.  He squinted down at all his dear friends, frozen in the midst of battle with shocked looks on their slack faces, except for Doc and Festus, of course, who had wisely chosen not to implicate themselves in this unfortunate fracas.  Louie’s mind raced as he peered at Miss Kitty and Marshal Dillon, wondering what in tarnation he was going to say to all these people…

Earlier that morning…

Louie Pheeters’ consciousness sluggishly swam through his whiskey-soaked, muddled brain towards the unforgiving, painfully radiant light of day.  He opened one bloodshot eye, just a slit, spying iron bars beside his small, prison-issue cot.  Noisily smacking his tacky, parched cottonmouth, he couldn’t help but notice that his tongue had seemingly donned a newly-knit woolen sweater overnight, and apparently two small, exceedingly violent men had also taken up residence in his tender skull, concentrating their sadistic efforts mainly in his temples.

“Mornin’, Louie!”  Marshal Dillon’s voice boomed like a cannon in his ears, and Louie’s eyes shot open. 

He managed to give a tremulous smile and sit up slowly so as not to upset those two rascals in his beleaguered head too awful much.  “Mornin’, Marshal…”  He stood, teetering slightly as he regained his sea legs, and shuffled over toward the open cell door.  “Thanks fer givin’ me a place to sleep last night.”

“No problem,” Marshal Dillon replied easily.  “I had a bed to spare.  Wanna cup o’ coffee?  Festus made it earlier this mornin’, so I, uh…”  He scratched his head and squinted contemplatively.  “…don’t know exactly how good it’ll be.”

“Sure, Marshal, that’d be real nice.”  Louie’s hand trembled as he reached for the cup, but his heart warmed gratefully at the marshal’s ready kindness.

“Say, Louie, me and Doc are goin’ over to Delmonico’s for some breakfast in a few minutes.  Would you care to come?”

“Oh, no, Marshal, I don’t think I should…”

“Come on, Louie, breakfast is on me!  Besides, I could sure use a little help around here later on.  You wanna come back with me after we eat and maybe help sweep out the place, or bring in some wood for the stove?  How’s that sound?”

Louie’s wide smile was beatific.  “That sounds like a fine trade, Marshal.  It’s a deal.”

Marshal Dillon clapped a hand on Louie’s shoulder.  “Let’s go on out front and see if Doc’s headed this way yet.  He’s slow as molasses in January.  I’m starved…how about you, Louie?”

LLLLLLLLLLLL

The midmorning sun beamed warmly on Louie’s face as he sat contentedly with his eyes closed beneath  Doc’s steep, wooden staircase.  His delicious, hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and buttered toast had nicely settled his churning, acidy stomach and helped to appease the annoying little pounding men plaguing his aching head.  He’d spent the rest of the morning sweeping the Marshal’s office, carrying in wood and running a couple of errands, and Marshal Dillon had pitched in an extra quarter for his work, despite having already bought him breakfast.   Louie’s face had radiated pleasure at the Marshal’s thoughtfulness.  “Thanks very much, Marshal Dillon.  That’s mighty generous of you.”

The Marshal had grinned back, “No problem, Louie.  I sure do ‘preciate the help.”

Now in his little hideaway from the bustle of the town, Louie took a small sip of the hair of the dog that bit him.  He wanted to rest a wee bit and let his eggs digest before heading to the Long Branch for the evening to see if he could do any work for Miss Kitty.  Just then he heard the office door open overhead and a woman who sounded like she was in distress speaking in hushed tones.  “Doc, whatever am I gonna’ do?”

“Well, Flossie, I’ll just tell ya’…I don’t rightly know.” 

Louie realized Doc must be talking to Miss Kitty’s newest girl at the Long Branch, Flossie Hargrove.  He thought Flossie was a sweet little thing, with big brown eyes and thick blonde hair, all curled up real pretty in a big pink bow.  Flossie was always awful nice to Louie. 

He heard Flossie sniffle quietly, “But, Doc, you know I ain’t got no family round here.  None that cares what happens to me anyways.”

“Well, honey, the MacPhersons are a good family.  Have you thought about telling them?”

“Oh, no, Doc, I just couldn’t do that!  Why, that wouldn’t do a’tall!”

“Now, Flossie, give them a chance.  You might be surprised….”

“No, Doc, promise me you won’t tell.  Why, Faerie Margaret MacPherson is a force to be reckoned with by all reliable accounts.  I’d just as soon take a beatin’ as to face up to her.  She protects her own, she does.  No, Doc, I’m not going that route.”

“Well, Flossie, you’ve got to at least tell Miss Kitty.  She’s a kind person, and she’ll look after you, I know.”

“Miss Kitty has always treated me right, that’s for sure, Doc.  But I don’t know.  She doesn’t need to be bothered with my problems.”

“You just take my word for it, Flossie.  You go ahead and tell her.  You want me to go with you?  Help you break the news?”

“Would you, Doc?”  Flossie’s voice sounded immensely relieved.

“Well, I’ve got to run out to the Yates’ house first and check on little Ima Jean.  She’s had the croup somethin’ terrible.  But how ‘bout I meet you over at the Long Branch later on and we’ll have us a talk with Miss Kitty?  I’m sure she’ll be able to help out with your situation.”

“Thanks, Doc, I sure do appreciate your concern, and I’ll be seein’ you later.  Don’t forget me now, you hear?”

“I won’t forget about you, Flossie.” 

Doc’s door snicked quietly shut as the young saloon girl’s footsteps treaded lightly down the steps.  Louie sat quietly contemplating poor Flossie Hargrove’s future with a little MacPherson growing in her belly.

LLLLLLLLLL

After a pleasant catnap beneath Doc’s stairs, and with a new quarter burning a hole in his pocket, Louie moseyed on over to Mr. Jonas’s store to purchase some Larkin’s Dentifrice tooth polishing powder.  Louie might be poor, but a man could still take care of his teeth, he always said.  Religiously, every Saturday night without fail, rain or shine…  He was perusing the mercantile’s selection of scented hair oils when, whom should he hear, of all people, but Faerie Margaret MacPherson whispering anxiously over in the corner by the ladies’ corsets with Daisy Dupree.   Now, Louie’s eyesight most definitely was not what it used to be, but his hearing was better than most. 

He heard Daisy simper, “Now, Faerie Margaret, I’m only tellin’ you this because you’re my friend…”

“Oh, quit yer shillyshallyin’ and spit it out, Daisy!”

“It’s quite embarrassing, Faerie Margaret.  I don’t know if I can even bear to tell you this…”  Daisy’s eyes were big as china saucers as she leaned over to hiss in the formidable Faerie Margaret’s ear.  “My cousin Sudie Faye heard it from her brother Thurman who got it directly from…”

Their voices became pitched so low that even Louie had a difficult time hearing the rest of the conversation.  He thought, but couldn’t be perfectly sure, that he could make out the words “in the family way” and “Flossie Hargrove”, the latter spoken as if the saloon girl were the devil incarnate herself. 

He discreetly watched as Faerie Margaret’s puffy complexion became a distinctly unhealthy shade of tomato red until at last, hands on stout hips, she thundered, “Wait’ll I get my hands on that gol-danged good-fer-nothin’ husband o’ mine!”  And with that, she barreled out of the mercantile, not even bothering to settle up with Mr. Jonas for the new broom she gripped in her beefy hand.

Mr. Jonas called out after her, “I’ll just put it on your account, Mrs. MacPherson!”

Louie, biting his lip and digging his quarter out of his pocket, shuffled to the counter with his Dentifrice.  Boy, oh boy, he would sure not like to be in Ulysses MacPherson’s shoes when his wife caught up with him.

LLLLLLLLLL

Louie stuck his Saturday night tooth polishing powder tin in his pocket, right next to his worn toothbrush and pint bottle of Old Crow.   Then he headed out of the mercantile for the Long Branch to see if he could earn enough pocket change for his evening’s libations.  “Afternoon, Mr. Cobb.” Louie greeted a local farmer, in town to buy his week’s provisions.  “How are you this fine day?”

“I’ve been better, Louie,” Delmont Cobb answered ominously.

“What’s the matter?” Louie solicitously inquired.

“Oh, I’m put out with that lowdown skunk of a neighbor of mine, Cleveland Babcock.  He’d just better steer clear o’ me, is all I got to say…”   Delmont shoved his work-calloused hands deep in the pockets of the faded, worn bib overalls that hung loosely on his thin frame. 

“Oh my, Mr. Cobb.  Are you two on the outs?”

“My prize pig, Matilda Bea, has done gone and plain ol’ disappeared from her pen.”

“Well, what’s that got to do with your neighbor, Mr. Babcock?”

“Loney Gerald, down to the stockyard, just told me that Cleveland sold him a hog last week, looked just like Matilda Bea.  She has special markings, you know-- a black spot on her back, right next to her tail that looks just like the state of Tennessee...  That’s where my mama’s people hail from—Tennessee.”

“You don’t say?”  Louie shook his head sorrowfully.  “But surely there’s some explanation.  I don’t think Cleveland Babcock is a thief.”

“I wouldn’t a’ believed it of him until just today.  But it just goes to show you never really know a person, don’t it?”  Delmont pursed his lips.

Louie shook his head sagely, “That’s a fact, Mr. Cobb.”

“Well, I’d best be goin’ to get my supplies now.  The wife wants me to pick up a Singer sewin’ machine she done ordered clear from Saint Louie.  You headed for the Long Branch?”

Louie nodded.  “Oh, you bet I am.”

“I might be over there later.  Have a beer before I head t’ home.  You take care now, you hear?”

“You too, Mr. Cobb.”  And Louie shuffled away to his home away from home, The Long Branch Saloon.  It was on account of Miss Kitty was the kindest and, by far, the most charming and attractive saloon owner in town.  She let him work for her and she even sometimes gave him his drinks for free.  And she always treated him real nice.  Miss Kitty was a real lady, no matter if she was the owner of a saloon or what the other so-called “ladies” of the town had to say about that. Yes, sir, Miss Kitty was a real fine lady…

LLLLLLLLLL

Kitty Russell bellowed, “Why you pompous windbag, how dare you threaten my girl…”  Louie watched in undisguised terror, holding an armload of wood for the stove as timid little Flossie Hargrove cowered in mortal fear behind Miss Kitty. 

Faerie Margaret MacPherson narrowed her eyes at her and hissed, “Oh, you’re one to talk, Kitty Russell, with you and all the scandalous gossip around town ‘bout you and Marsh…”

“Don’t you dare, you hateful old biddy!  Why I oughta…”  Louie stepped back a pace when Miss Kitty’s blue eyes turned fiery.  Matt Dillon had the good sense to quickly latch an arm around Kitty’s waist to keep her from scratching Mrs. MacPherson’s eyes plumb out.

Kitty oofed and scowled in frustration as Matt held her tightly in his arms while he grunted, “Mrs. MacPherson, don’t you think it’s time you oughta’ go home?”

“Can’t you control that common trollop of yours, Marshal?”

“Oh, whoa, now, Mrs. MacPherson…”  Matt quickly interjected.  “There’s no call for that kind of talk.”

Kitty fumed, “Listen here, lady, you came into my place looking for trouble?  Well, now I’m gonna give it to ya’…”  And with that she gave a last ditch lunge towards the hefty Faerie Margaret, who still wielded her mercantile broom. 

Matt dove in between the two, arms akimbo trying to block both women from doing serious harm to each other.  Matt’s hat got swatted off his head by the wildly swinging broom until he grabbed on with both hands and held the woman still.  “Hold it right there!” he growled, sternly facing her down across the wooden handle.

“Get your hands off my wife!” roared Ulysses MacPherson from the saloon doors. 

Matt turned in surprise, and Faerie Margaret indignantly hollered, “Why you two-timin’, double-dealin’, lily-livered husband!”

“What?” yelped Ulysses.  “Faerie Margaret, sweetheart, whatta’ you m--?”

The broom was launched with very bad aim at Ulysses’ head, for it mistakenly intercepted Doc Adams who, at that instant, was coming in the door directly behind.  “Ow!” yowled Doc.  “What in thunder, woman?!  What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

“Hey,” protested Ulysses.  “You can’t talk to my wife like that!”

“What d’you mean?  She nearly cold-cocked me with a blasted broom.”

“You tell ‘im, Doc!”  It was Loney Gerald the stockyard boy commiserating with Cleveland Babcock, alleged pig thief, over a cold, sudsy beer at the bar.  Louie audibly groaned when another customer strolled ill-fatedly through the door--alleged theft victim, one Delmont Eugene Cobb.

“Pig thief!” bellowed Delmont Cobb, as he launched his wiry body toward his neighbor Cleveland, leaning unsuspectingly on the bar.  “You stole my Matilda Bea and turned her into sausage!!” 

The two tangled up with a fury while Loney Gerald flapped his arms, hollering helplessly, “Hey, wait a minute!  Hey…!” 

Then all hell broke loose in the Long Branch Saloon.  Faerie Margaret took useful advantage of the porcine predicament to jump in and whale the daylights out of her unfaithful husband with the broom she quickly retrieved from the floor at Doc’s feet.

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…” ruminated Louie briefly before hastily abandoning his load of kindling and diving for cover under a nearby table with Doc.

When the self-righteously riled Mrs. MacPherson turned her pugnacious attentions toward poor little Flossie Hargrove, Kitty pushed up her sleeves, blew a titian curl out of her eyes and enthusiastically tied into it with Faerie Margaret.  Louie whistled long and low.  He’d never realized Miss Kitty could fight like that.   Doc and Louie turned to look at one another beneath their polished wooden refuge, raising their eyebrows in awestruck wonderment.

Several rowdy cowhands had joined in the melee apparently for no other reason than to have a good time.  Chairs crashed, bottles smashed, and petticoats flashed as the fighting commenced.  Festus chose that moment to appear from the depths of the cellar with a box of fine Kentucky bourbon hoisted on his shoulder.  “What the…!”  He hollered to be heard over the din, “Matthew, what in tarnation is a’goin’ on here?”  He ducked a flying bottle which promptly hit the wall and shattered behind him, but held firmly onto his precious cargo.

   

“Now just a dadgum minute….”  he yelled at no one in particular, setting the wooden boxful of  aged corn whiskey safely aside and scurrying beneath the table with Doc and Louie.  “Doc, what’re you hidin’ under here for?”

“I took an oath of ‘Do no harm…’ remember?  What’s your excuse?” Doc harrumphed.

Louie looked up just in time to spy young Mr. MacPherson, Ulysses’ and Faerie Margaret’s teenage son Creed, standing at the swinging doors peering in, a look of utter consternation crossing his face.  “Pa…” he muttered.  “Ma!” 

He ran inside and grabbed Flossie Hargrove’s hand, pulling her out of harm’s way.  As Louie observed young Creed MacPherson’s actions, a look of sudden comprehension dawned on Louie’s careworn face.  With determination set in his features, he scrambled out from under the table into the fray with Doc howling after him, “Are you crazy, man?”

Louie carefully crawled across the saloon through hoots and hollers and flying furniture, trying in vain not to be distracted by the extraordinary sight of Marshal Dillon rolling on the floor, caught helplessly between two sets of churning petticoats.  Louie grabbed the shotgun he knew Miss Kitty kept for just such emergencies behind the counter, climbing unsteadily on top of the bar amidst shattered bottle fragments and several hastily abandoned glasses of spirits, a couple of which he hurriedly tossed back for a bit of Dutch courage. 

Louie stood tall and took a deep breath, eyes watering from the whiskey that was burning a fiery path down his throat.  “Stop!”  He looked around to see what impact his statement had, and when he saw it had absolutely none, he tried it again, this time with a little firepower, aimed at the ceiling.  “I said, ‘everybody stop!’”  The explosion was somewhat deafening within the confines of the enclosed room and therefore naturally caused everyone to freeze uncertainly in their tracks, except for Matt Dillon who stood at the ready, hair sticking up from his tussle with the ladies, eyes squinting, gun drawn and nobody really to point it at.   All eyes stared in shock at the source of the commotion:  Louis Pheeters, swaying unsteadily atop the bar with a smoking shotgun clutched in his trembling hands, lip curled in determination, a wild look in his rheumy eyes. 

Festus helped Doc clamber out from under the table.  “Holy Pete, Louie.  What’d ya’ go and do that fer?  You done shot a hole in Miss Kitty’s roof!”

Louis answered quietly, now a bit self-conscious with all eyes on him, “I know, and I’m sure sorry ‘bout that, Miss Kitty, but I wanted to get everbody’s attention.”

Matt helped Miss Kitty up off the floor as she grunted, dusting off her rumpled skirts and smoothing her unruly hair.  “Well, Louie…”   She punctuated her matter-of-fact statement with a well-timed arch of one lovely brow.  “…I’d say you got it, honey.”  She crossed her arms and looked expectantly up at him.

“Thank you, Miss Kitty,“ Louie continued, albeit a big tremulously.  “You see, ladies and gentlemen, I think what we got here is a big misunderstanding.”

Matt snatched his hat from where it’d been knocked to the floor and replaced it to his head, scowling fiercely at Faerie Margaret.  “A misunderstanding?  Whattaya’  mean, Louie?”

“What I mean is this—“  Louie looked directly at Creed MacPherson who still held young Flossie’s hand protectively.  “Mrs. MacPherson, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about your husband and little Flossie over here.  Isn’t that right, Creed?  Don’t you have something to say?”

Creed cleared his throat, his voice cracking a bit as he timidly spoke.  “Ma, Pa, I been meanin’ to tell ya’, but I was just too darn scared.”  He coughed and shuffled his big feet, looking to Flossie for encouragement.  “I love Flossie and wanna’ marry her, if she’ll have me, that is.”

Flossie sprouted tears and seized Creed around the neck, laughing and crying all at the same time.  Faerie Margaret got a funny look on her face.  Louie could see the wheels turning in her head, eyebrows slowly beetling as she put two and two together and didn’t care for the sum she came up with.  “Why you…” she spluttered.  “Creed MacPherson, you oughta be ashamed of yourself.  You done went and got this girl in the family way!”  Mrs. MacPherson grabbed her son unceremoniously by the ear and yanked him out the door, hauling her husband right along by the shirt collar, giving them both what-for.

After a short spell in which everyone just stood stock still, listening to the familial uproar heading out of earshot down the street and feeling particularly grateful that they were no longer in the midst of it, Festus, with hopeful eyes, suddenly spoke up, “Flossie, darlin’, I think it may take a little bit for Faerie Margaret to warm up to ya’, but I’m shore she will in due time, jest you wait and see.”  He winked reassuringly as Miss Kitty gave her a bracing hug.

“Yeah, it’s a funny thing….” Loney Gerald piped up.  “…with all these misunderstandin’s and such…”

Delmont Cobb spoke quietly, “What exactly do you mean, Loney Gerald?”

“Well, Mr. Cobb, I was tellin’ Cleveland here about you comin’ by the stockyard to ask about your pig Matilda Bea.”  He swallowed hard.  “I told him about the mark you said she had on her back.  ‘Bout it lookin’ like Nevada…”

“Tennessee.”

“Yeah, Tennessee, that’s it.”  Loney Gerald heaved a great sigh and admitted with defeat, “Mr. Cobb, geography was never my strong suit in school, you see…”

Delmont intoned, “You wouldn’t know what a map of Tennessee looked like if it hit you right between the eyes, would you, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“You mean you didn’t send my Matilda Bea off to make sausage outta her?”

Loney Gerald swallowed.  “Not to my knowledge... sir.  I bought a pig from Cleveland here, but the mark she had on her back looked more like…”

Cleveland muttered under his breath, “Massachusetts.”

Loney repeated, “Massachusetts, sir.”

“Then who’s got my dadgum pig?!”

Cleveland Babcock stepped forward, “I don’t know, Delmont, but I’ll sure go out and help you find her.  I know what a special place your pig Matilda Bea holds in your heart.”

Delmont ducked his head and swiped at his eyes.  “Thank ya’ kindly, Cleveland.  I ‘preciate that.    I’m sure sorry ‘bout all this.  And sorry ‘bout yer face there.  Here’s my hankie...  Yer bleedin’ a little there.  On yer lip…”

Louie beamed and leaned over to pick up another forgotten glass of whiskey from the bar at his feet with a grand flourish.  “See?” he chortled.  “Just misunderstandings is all it was.  Miss Kitty, I will help you clean up this mess, free of charge, and these cowboys here will help too, won’t you?”  Louie waggled his eyebrows at the Marshal, even as his body unsteadily listed a bit to the left while he used the shotgun to stabilize himself.

Marshal Dillon rumbled, “You bet they will, or they’re goin’ straight to jail…”

Kitty gazed at him from beneath her lashes.  “Thanks, Matt, I owe ya’ one.”

Marshal Dillon murmured under his breath, “I’ll hold you to that…” as she smiled coyly, while Doc and Festus shook their heads and shuffled to the bar for a glass of beer.

Louie gave a small hiccup, raised his glass triumphantly and happily crowed, “There now, everthing’s right as rain!  Here’s to another fine day in Dodge City!”

End